


Claimed by madam_minnie

by madam_minnie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, D/s, Darkfic, Dubious Consent, M/M, Pony Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madam_minnie/pseuds/madam_minnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All good ponies must be broken if they intend to be ridden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claimed by madam_minnie

  
[Claimed](viewstory.php?sid=1864) by [madam_minnie](viewuser.php?uid=2)  


  
Summary: All good ponies must be broken if they intend to be ridden.

Categories: The Broomshed > The Dungeon Characters:  Percy Weasley  
Genres:  Darkfic, Erotica, Ficlet, PWP  
Time Period:  None  
Warnings:  BDSM, D/S, Slash, Strong Sexual Content, Violence  
Challenges: None  
Series: None  
Chapters:  1 Completed: Yes   
Word count: 1316 Read: 2518  
Published: 03/27/2006 Updated: 03/27/2006 

Claimed by madam_minnie

Author's Notes:

Written for [](http://satindolls.livejournal.com/profile)[**satindolls**](http://satindolls.livejournal.com/) who asked for Lucius/Percy bondage smut on a slab. Thanks to the amazing [](http://kobegrace.livejournal.com/profile)[**kobegrace**](http://kobegrace.livejournal.com/) for the awesome beta!

Patiently, he awaits his orders.

He's been kneeling on this cold dungeon floor for hours now, waiting for his master's next command. His knees ache, his thighs burn; with every tiny clench he unwittingly makes, the pony tail plug lodged deep inside of him inches up even higher, _higher_. The bit in his mouth keeps him from salivating, though in any case, he's careful not to let any saliva dribble down his chin. The last time that happened, he marred the stone floor with his spittle — something for which he was severely beaten. Now that his back is finally on the mend, the last thing he wants to do is anger the Master any further.

His hands are cuffed behind his back. The blindfold is tied tightly over his eyes. He no longer remembers what daylight looks like, and he has ceased to care about such trivialities as warm summer days, the sounds of his brothers playing Quidditch, the jovial greeting from his parents on a Saturday morning... Now, the only thing he wishes for is to remain in his master's care. To do so, he has had to renounce his family, his name and all that signifies being a Weasley.

And thus he waits, as he always does.

Percy Weasley waits, and soon, his patience pays off.

The soft swish of the braided leather whip signals his master's arrival, and with learned reverence, Percy instantly bows his head. As the whip's lashes caress the floor, the sound of Master's heavy boots resonates in the cavernous room, ever growing as he gets nearer and nearer.

And then — yes, because Percy can feel it — the Master is there, standing right in front of his kneeling form.

A crisp, icy voice slices through the air as the Master asks, "Have you soiled my floor once more?" But before Percy can begin to even think of a reply, he is dragged upward by the bit in his mouth, being forced to rise. "Good boy," the Master sardonically hisses in his ear, the wisps of his hair feathering Percy's shoulders. "It seems, then, that you have learned your lesson."

Percy knows better than to respond to this, of course; his last outburst cost him the use of his hands for days. But the suddenness with which he was made to stand has left him swaying a little — something, he is certain, that doesn't escape Master's discerning eye.

"What's this?" Master asks softly, circling him as a predator does its prey. "Already you grow unsteady? No, no, but that is not good form at all, pet." Quietly clicking his tongue, the Master then brings his face closer. "All good ponies must be broken," he whispers lasciviously, "if they intend to be ridden."

The blow to his backside that immediately follows takes Percy's breath away. It sends jolts of both pain and arousal shooting up his spine, and if he wasn't before, he is now terribly aware of the two metal rings restraining his testicles to his cock. In spite of his blindfold, he shuts his eyes tightly, the only reprieve from his plight he can afford to take. Still, he is careful not to weep onto the floor, lest he is made to lick his mess clean.

"Well, I've a treat for you today," Master resumes idly, and once again, Percy is pulled forward by the bit in his mouth. The plug inside him pushes in even further as he is made to shuffle along the floor, his ankles shackled together. Then, after only a few steps, Percy feels his Master's hands on his blindfold. The moments become centuries as he waits for the shining light to pierce through his sensitive lids, but no such thing happens; instead, there is only the soft, amber glow from the flickering fire of the torches, comparatively soothing to his delicate eyes.

As his vision adjusts, Percy blinks several times.

And when everything finally comes into focus, it is the smouldering, grey gaze of Lucius Malfoy that he finds burning right through him.  
Instantly, Percy is struck with awe by his master's features. Compared to his own frail figure, Lucius Malfoy's body is lithe, shaped and defined. His left bicep, encircled by a simple leather thong, is thicker than both of Percy's arms put together, and Percy revels at the sight of all the firm, sinewy flesh. As his master stands before him, a force condescending and impenetrable, Percy cannot help but liken his image to that of a terrifying Adonis. Lucius Malfoy's appearance is of inherent fierceness, legitimate superiority and malice unforgiving.

Percy has never seen anything more beautiful.

Even as he gazes in wonder at his master, Malfoy is stepping forward, pressing their bodies together. "No spanking horse for you today, pet," he growls against Percy's lips, entirely exploitative of his captive's stupefaction. "Up on the slab, then."

Led by his bit once more, Percy is made to walk up the stone stairs to a large block of marble. There, Malfoy has him lie face down and spread-eagled upon the cold surface, before promptly manacling his ankles and wrists to the restraints in each corner. In this uncomfortable position, with his cock aching and shocked by the sheer coldness of the stone, Percy nonetheless remains silent as his body is oiled with long, languid, tortuous strokes. The scent of saddle lubricant, mixed with the leather of his own bridle, is enough to send him into a thick, heady spin that threatens to make his toes curl and his eyes roll back.

Meanwhile, the Master himself has climbed up onto the marble slab. Now, he is straddling the back of Percy's thighs. When Percy realises that smooth fingertips are brushing over his puckered rim, he holds his breath in anticipation; and when, without any further preamble, he feels the plug being eased out of his arse, he bites down — hard — on the leather bit. But he isn't even granted any time to recover, much less exhale, before he feels three long, well-saturated fingers shoved up in the plug's place. Too caught off guard to remember to hold back, a hoarse cry escapes his throat, muffled as it is against the oppressive leather.

This feeling is a new one for Percy. This is the first he has ever been prepped. The sensation of... of skin invading his tender cavity makes his cock pulse against his stomach; when Malfoy forces his body to slide back and forth against the marble, the metal rings bite deep into Percy's flesh, causing fiery tears to well up in his eyes.  
But Malfoy snarls, "Don't you dare defile my altar, slave" — and all Percy can do is whimper helplessly as his cock twitches again, threatening to explode.

And then —

Fuck!

Behind their silk covering, Percy's eyes snap open —

And then, just like that, Malfoy's fingers are gone — replaced — by something much thicker: something hot and colossal and throbbing against Percy's hole that, without any warning, tears right through his tight ring of muscles and plunders him completely.

The scream that should tear from his mouth is denied him as Malfoy pulls back on the bridle, withdrawing and then impaling himself on Percy's powerless form. As he is taken, again and again and again, Percy writhes in delectable, rapturous agony, his muscles spasming under the combined weight and deep penetration. But the pain is not an unwelcome one. This... this is what he has patiently waited for... this is the reason for which he has suffered months of training. This is his validation. Percy Weasley waited; this is his reward. His master has claimed him fully now, the way he deserves, and as he is ridden mercilessly, bareback and raw, there is only one thought that courses through his scarred and conditioned mind.

Thank you, Master.

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.thequidditchpitch.org/viewstory.php?sid=1864>  



End file.
